"You okay?" she asked, softer now.
"Yes." I clipped the folder. "I'm fine."
"You say fine like it owes you money."
"I'm sore, that's all."
She studied me for another beat. "Is the community service part awful?"
I thought of Birdie's tomato earrings, Gus insulting compost with the gravity of a man discussing politics, Tyler trying to develop a strategy for a pile of decomposing leaves, and Zane's hand steady around a drip-line connector.
I thought of Beargrass Lake under the sun and Zane's voice on the dock saying my hours wouldn't change.
"No," I said. "It's not awful."
Amanda's expression shifted, but before she could ask the question sitting right there in her eyes, Monica Owens appeared at the far end of the hall.
Monica moved through Cascadia like every meeting had already agreed to start on her schedule. She wore a fitted charcoal dress, low heels, and a thin gold chain that never seemed to tangle, which I considered a personal attack from the universe. Her phone was in one hand, a red pen in the other, and her short blond hair was tucked behind one ear.
"Daphne," she said. "Do you have the West Ridge packet ready?"
"Yes." I lifted the blue folder. "I'm finishing the copies now."
"I need one clean print set, one scanned set, and the broker materials flagged before ten-thirty. The outside contact pushed revised access language late last night, and I want to see exactly what changed before the call."
"Of course."
Monica glanced toward Amanda. "Amanda, the bank letter goes to me before you send it."
"I'll bring it in five minutes," Amanda said.
"Good." Monica looked back at me. "Daphne, check the attachments against the revised index. If anything's missing, don't chase the broker. Bring it to me."
"I will."
Monica turned and walked back toward her office, already lifting the phone to her ear.
Amanda waited until Monica's door closed before she looked at me again. "West Ridge?"
"Don't ask me. I make packets. I don't name things."
"Probably wise."
"Names are where optimism goes to get zoning approval."
Amanda snorted. "You're definitely sore."
"I'm workplace appropriate and emotionally flexible."
"Sure." She pushed away from the doorframe. "If the copier wins again, yell."
"If the copier wins again, tell my mother I fought honorably."
"Your mother would ask why you were fighting office equipment instead of drinking water."
That sounded dangerously close to Zane, so I pointed at the hall. "Go do your bank letter."
Amanda left laughing.
